A Recipe for Cake
by Freesourceful
Summary: A tale of young Misadventurers, who will one day grow up to become Grey Wardens, heroes, cowards, and saviors of Ferelden. Stars Ereb Amell and Kylla Surana, and more mages than you can throw a stick at in DA:O. COMPLETE
1. A Recipe for Cake, Part 1

**Author's Note:** _How do you explain The Misadventurers to a newcomer who hasn't been there for the entire story? Let's start by saying that it's kind of an alternate universe version of Dragon Age: Origins. In this world, we have three PC mages - Oto, the hero of Dragon Age: Origins, and her childhood companions, Kylla Surana and Ereb Amell, who are somewhat cowardly, sheltered kids who have no idea about how the real world works, but are thrust into the circumstances surrounding the Blight of Ferelden to make of it what they may._

_This story, however, has nothing to do with any of their trials or battles to come. This story is about their time together in the Circle tower, their years on their sheltered island, and the relationships that wove their lives together. I hope that you enjoy this take on what mage life in Ferelden may have been like._

* * *

**The Cast of Characters:**

**Ereb Amell**

Quiet and reserved, Ereb tends to keep to himself and focus on his studies, struggling to repress memories of his earlier life. Despite this, he has an undying loyalty to the Circle and is proud to be a Mage, revelling in his magical abilities. Although he is liked by his teachers due to his dedication and natural skill, he has few friends amongst his peers due to his shyness and their mistrust of vegetarians.

**Kylla Surana**

The sheltered world of the Circle of Magi has been kind to Kylla. Her teachers, who care more about her magic than her heritage, were pleased to train her keen intellect and guide her natural curiosity. She grew up well-taught and sheltered from common concerns, innocent of the world and the disgustingly dirty, unhygienic things in it. She is by nature cautious and easily upset by circumstances out of her control. Recently, Kylla submitted her thesis on, "The Role of the Spectator in the Fade: A Comparative Examination of Spectral Views and Dreaming Perspectives in Other Dimensional Worlds" and passed her Harrowing test with flying colors as one of the youngest mage candidates in the history of the Circle.

**Oto**

Oto was brought to the Circle at the age of 8, but had already been taken from her family when she was 6, by a Circus troup that saw her do incredible things. Her family was so numerous and poor that they had no remorse in selling her to them. That's why she kept her independent and hot-headed spirit in the Tower ; skipping classes, stealing food and playing tag with Templars. Even if she complained a lot about the authority, she really thinks the Tower is her home, and cares about the friends she has there like her real family. She's also highly allergic to water.

* * *

**A Recipe for Cake: Kylla  
**

The world was still dark outside the towered walls of Kinloch Hold when the baking started. But inside the darkness of the tower, the ancient home of the Circle Mages of Ferelden, it was hard to ever tell day from night. Even further down, in the depths of the lower kitchens, a young elf with whitened hair worked around the rosy fire of a tiny oven.

Kylla wiped her cheek with the back of her hand, oblivious to how the gesture left a white streak of rice flour across her pale skin. Cobbled together from loose brick and broken slabs, the makeshift oven burned evenly above a brick nest. Below it, the little fire elemental Kylla had summoned gnawed with vigor on a log of coal. She squinted with one eye to look through the heat, checking that the batter in the oven was rising properly. It was slow labor, baking in the Tower, but she was determined that today, of all days, she would make it work. She's been preparing all month to get it right.

Satisfied that the fire salamander had all it needed to maintain a steady heat, Kylla turned her mind to the challenge of sugar and butter. She glared at the ingredients sitting on the table, daring them to defy her. She gave the gluten-free vanilla extract an extra eye full just in case. Eyes darting about as if the ingredients might be inclined to grow legs and run off at any moment, Kylla cautiously picked up a wooden spoon, compiled her materials, and began beating the mixture into a stiff, creamy texture.

It took a full half hour for the cake to finish baking, and during the time, Kylla finally wrangle the frosting into something that approximated the delicious, thick layers of goodness she'd once had as a treat. She couldn't remember what the occasion was, but the First Enchanter was very excited that day and there were many unusual, fancily-dressed guest mages in attendance who spoke with funny accents and sniffed at the children with their noses held high. They brought with them a chef, a large, pastry-like man with a perpetually gleaming forehead and a large, bulbous nose. He took over Neria's kitchen with a disdainful "hrrumphf!" which infuriated the Head Housekeeper, but all she could do was sit and fume as the over-sized man and his very large crew turned her tiny kitchen into a culinary battlefield. The man's roars rang like battle horns and the mess in his wake could have ten templars battling in the tiny walled space. Neria had been so upset, she didn't even eat the cake offered to her by the large chef. She gave it to Kylla as a treat for helping to clean instead.

Kylla glanced at the thick recipe book for her next step, #8 Fanning Your Oven Fresh Baked Goods. Neria the head housekeeper had recommended the volume, _Baking Love with Measuring Spoons: Dash, Pinch, Smidgen, and the Secrets of Making Love in the Kitchen_, from her collection of personal books, which occupied all one quarter of a shelf. Usually these books featured pink covers with pictures of Orlesian women who all looked like they were just about to step into a bath. Most wore overly extravagant, white dresses with a dizzying array of laces, which apparently required a manservant helping them to undress. (Although Kylla rather disapproved of the idea of male servants in general, she supposed that there was no accounting for the peculiarities of foreign tastes. They were foreigners, after all.)

Steps 1-4 detailed the ingredients needed and how to prepare each one properly and steps 5-6 outlined the order in which to mix to achieve best effect. Steps 7-9 were thoughtfully illustrated with diagrams of how to shape the pan, dribble the batter, remove the cake, and then cool it before applying icing. But the directions for step #10-15 puzzled Kylla. They seemed to have very little to do with the realm of cookery, and a lot to do with the art of lacing or unlacing corsetry.

She had sheepishly approached Neria about the subject, but the woman had flushed redder than Senior Enchanter Wynne's robes and fell into a fit of what she said was coughing before begging off with fever. Kylla felt terrible for the incident; she could clearly tell that Neria was covering up for something else that day. Neria had all the classic symptoms of an extreme allergic reaction: the coughing, the flushed cheeks, and the watery eyes, which Kylla was able to diagnose thanks to years of healer training in the tower; although she had never heard of anyone allergic to corsets. But she was unwilling to put the Head Housekeeper through another fit of allergies just to find out, and so despite all of her very impressive education, Kylla still remained under a dark cloud as to how to interpret the mysterious recipe text.

The sugary sweet smell of warm gluten-free flour and butter interrupted Kylla's reverie. She set aside the thoughts to mull over later; the cake pieces still needed to be removed from the oven and cooled so that the buttery frosting would not melt in the icing process. Icing, Kylla thought. She had wondered why it was called that. Perhaps a good frost spell would do the trick?

A stonefist spell protected Kylla's hands as she reached into the oven to pull the cake pans from the fire; one thin, rectangular pan and two smaller cylinders. The pans had not been easy to acquire. Eventually, she resorted to making them herself with a modified earth spell in order to achieve the unusual shapes. The little fire salamander hissed at her as she approached, curling possessively around its lump of coal. Kylla removed the pans delicately, trying to disturb the creature as little as possible. Carrying each prize back to her worktable, she set the three pieces for her cake in the center of the granite table, where she gently eased each one from the container with a thin spatula.

Kylla gazed with admiration at how well formed the pieces had come out. With icing to hold it together, her vision for a mini cake version of Kinloch Hold was almost complete!

She arranged the two smaller, round cakes side by side on the blue china plate she had uncovered up from the cellars for this special occasion. The rectangular piece was going to be harder to place. She tried lifting one end with the spatula, but the cake fell flaccidly back onto the work table without any support.

Kylla poked at the cake tentatively with a finger. The instructions in her recipe book said that it should have a firm, bouncy texture. Her finger sank into the soft, squishy exterior. She pulled her hand back and frowned.

Maybe she could prop it up with a stick? Or perhaps lighting will shock the cake into standing upright? She'd seen lighting spells do that to the hair of neophyte spellcasters on their first day in primal mastery.

A paralysis spell, she thought. She could draw the rune on the plate with icing.

Kylla removed the two smaller cakes and set to work on the china plate, brow furrowed in concentration, lips pressed together. She lost track of time as she worked, only nervously aware that the sun was rising higher with every moment, blotting icing furiously with her butter knife. Slowly, the little frosting lines took shape, the heart of the rune branching out to encircle the surface of the plate.

The components for her spell complete, she carefully lifted the cake tower with the help of several spatulas and held it upright in the center of the plate. With one word the rune activated, blue-white light coursing like quicksilver across the surface, colliding in the center in a sharp flash, and in a blink, the moment was over. Kylla gingerly pulled away and the cake stood, erect, proudly on its own; a tiny, gluten-free, fat yellow tower on a blue china plate.

She worried a little about the rough handiwork. The cake was about two hand spans high, standing, but the time spent sitting on the table had caused it to wrinkle somewhat around the sides as it cooled. It was thicker at the bottom than at the tip, and when she placed the two smaller cakes representing the island's open area around it, they sat like sagging balls at the base. The entire structure looked a little... odd.

Kylla tilted her head one way, then another, then shrugged and picked up the white frosting bowl. It was nothing a bit of icing wouldn't cover, and it would all go down the throat at the end of the day, anyway, so maybe it was just the thought that counted.


	2. A Recipe for Cake, Part 2

**A Recipe for Cake: Ereb**

Ereb dreamt that he was home. The smell of mother's baking was in the air, mixed with the acrid scent of sawdust from the workroom, the crisp taste of cut green grass from the fields, and the comforting smell of lavender flowers. Mother always tucked lavender into their bed sheets to help them sleep. The bright sun and soft breeze told him it was late spring on the Amell property, and the birds were trilling a cheery tune outside the window. Ereb breathed in deeply and stretched, his long legs dangling over the too-small bed.

"Wake up, sleepy head," called a voice from the other room. Ereb yawned expansively and smiled. "I'm up," he called back, "It smells delicious."

"Made your favorites for your homecoming! Now get over here before your brother and sister come in so we can surprise them. They don't know you're back yet."

Ereb buried his face in the sheets one last time before giving up the pretense of sleep. He clambered out of the small bed frame, unfolding like a stork taking flight.

Things had not changed much since he left. His hand lingered on the smooth, carved surface of the bedpost as he rose, feeling down the side for the place where he and his father had carved their initials to identify their work. Ereb remembered fondly how proud he was to have helped cut and sand the wood. Across the room, a medium-sized chest stood next to a small folding desk of dark, rosey oak where he spent many a hour reading and writing stanzas in his youth.

A woman's voice was singing in the next room. Ereb pulled on his long blue robes and leather belt and went in search of the singer. He stepped from his bedroom into the well-lit, airy kitchen and spotted the short woman at the stove, a large shawl draped around her head. "Mother," he grinned, opening his arms to embrace her. The woman turned around. Ereb's jaw dropped.

"Oto? What are you doing here?" he asked, stunned. The dark-skinned girl with the long blond dreads looked at him quizzically.

"Is that any way to talk to your mother?"

Before Ereb could get another question out, Jowan walked in, a smirk plastered all over his face like he was sucking on a secret and couldn't wait to share.

"Hey, bro. Dubba-you bee. That means 'welcome back'." Ereb had not yet had time to close his mouth yet. He continued to watch, gape mouthed, as Jowan was immediately followed by Kylla, who inexplicably wore Ethel's favorite purple dress; only that it was too small even for her elfin frame, and the hemline stopped significantly short of her knees.

"Big brother!" Kylla cried, running forward into his arms. Ereb could feel the blood rising inside him.

"What's going on here?" He finally managed.

"Welcome home!" Chirped Kylla, uncharacteristically bouncing up and down while still holding onto his neck. "Just wait till Papa gets in to see you. He has a surprise!"

"Oooh! I have a surprise for him, too!" Squealed Oto, joining the fray. "A top-secret cake recipe just for you, my boy!"

At that moment, a loud thud drew everyone's attention to the door. Ereb blanched at the sight of the tall, gray-haired man and the stern, gray face. He immediately recognized the Knight Commander Greagoir, terror of the apprentices and the law and justice of the Circle Tower. In his hands was a large, wicked blade that was red with stains.

"Ho, my boy!" Shouted Greagoir, brandishing the sword, "I've been out in the fields cutting up strawberries for you!"

Ereb wrestled free of Kylla's grasp and began backing back towards his room, shaking unsteadily.

"I, uh – uh – uh, I huh – huh – huh – have to go now..." he stuttered. The family looked concerned. As one the group moved towards him, their faces cast in shadow they moved away from the light. Each step forward forced him a step back, deeper into the other room, backing away until his legs ran up against the bedpost and he was at the wall.

"Stay, son," said Greagoir, holding up his juice-stained sword, "Don't you like strawberries?"

"I haven't even given you my secret cake recipe yet," growled Oto, towering over him. Her hands reached out for Ereb.

"I don't want it!" said Ereb, stumbling backwards into the bed as he raised his hands over his head to ward her off.

Ereb hit the floor of his room with his arms still clutched around his head, heart pounding. The sudden jolt of the fall shook him awake. He thrashed about in his blanket, unable to see, gulping down air like a man rescued from drowning. He finally managed to pull the covers from his head and got a clear view of the dimly lit room with shabby bunk beds lined up like boxes and a half a dozen apprentices going about their morning rituals; some staring at him openly with curious looks. The same apprentices' room that he had slept and dreamt in for the past eleven years. The same shabby chest where he kept his paltry belongings. The same stuffy world he had lived and breathed in since the day he had walked through the foreboding, gray walls and watched the thick iron doors of the Circle close on the life behind him. Eleven years since he had left home.

"Heeeey, are you okay?" asked a familiar female voice by his side. Ereb clutched the blankets to his chest, suddenly self-conscious that he was wearing nothing more than his threadbare under robes and some scanties. Oto thrust her face at him. "You were screaming pretty loudly, there!"

"I – I – I – I'm f – f –f – f – fine," he managed, his eyes wide with anxiety as the older girl peered down at him.

"Hey, what? I'm not going to molest you." Oto made a face. "Unless you wanted me to." She seemed to consider the idea. "Mmm, no. On second hand, no, not even if you wanted me to." A mischievous grin crept across her face. "But you know who we should get to molest you?"

Ereb slapped both hands to his face and tried to bury himself behind them. Oto prattled, blissfully unaware of the mortification she was causing him, or perhaps deliberately talking so loudly so that she would be overheard, as she followed him about the boy's dormitory while he prepared for the day. He grabbed a robe from the small chest at the base of his bed and did his best to get out of the room as quickly as possible. He stepped into the hallway, a stack of notes under one arm, and tried to tighten his leather belt with the other. Oto followed him down the hallway as he walked to his novice lecture class in the library.

"Do you remember what day it is today?" she asked.

"Yes. We're starting the new apprentices on summoning today. I need to help Senior Enchanter Wiggum with the rune preparations."

"No. I mean, do you remember why it's *special* today?"

"Special?" Ereb was confused.

"Aren't you going to see Kylla today?"

"What? W – w – w – why would I do that?" Ereb pulled at his belt nervously. Did he buckle it too tight?

"Because you like her, don't you?" Oto pulled at his arm so that Ereb had to stop to look at her. She leaned in, close enough for him to feel her warm breath on his cheek. Ereb blushed to his ears as the girl's long pale hair brushed against his brow, but it was the words themselves that made his heart beat about wildly like a caged animal in his chest.

"You - should - ask - her - for - a - kiss." Oto drawled. The very thought sent the blood boiling Ereb's head. Oto smirked. "C'mon, you know you want to. Plus... it's your birthday!"

"B - b - b - b - b - b," Ereb managed to stutter. He wasn't having much luck with vowel sounds.

Oto leaned in again, speaking in fast, clipped speech. Ereb's head swam. He heard the words, "First... confession... always wanted to... and love." The word "kiss" came up more than once, but the maelstrom of words had stopped making sense. He was sure Oto could hear the loud beating of his heart through his thin chest, and was embarrassed that she appeared to be pretending not to notice.

"Hey, Ereb. Hey! Are you listening to me?"

"B - b - birthday...?"

"C'mon! You can't let her get away from you like that!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Haven't you heard anything I've been saying? Your girl is going to confess her love to someone else! She told one of the younger apprentices last night that she was 'making a very special date' this morning with someone named Gutten. You can't let her get away from you like that, right? You have to tell her first and be a man. Win her love back!"

Oto punctuated her enthusiasm with a slap to Ereb's arm that made the younger man stumble. He rubbed the area sheepishly, feeling stunned and out of place.

"I... I must protest?"

"Yeah, but don't you like her? You do like her, don't you?"

Ereb twisted the sleeve of his robe a few times before he responded. "But isn't that rather forward? I don't think that sounds like something Kylla would..." he paused. A gnawing, aching pain was making it hard to breathe. He forced the next words out of his mouth, "Well, if it's someone that would make her happy – "

Oto's sudden arm about his neck nearly choked him on his own words.

"Buddy, take it from me. This guy's got nothing on you. You just need to approach her the right way. What any woman wants is for a tall, strong man to take her around her little waist, like this, and to pull her close to him, like this, and then, with a great, big, dashing grin, plant his mouth squarely on her lips like - "

Oto blinked as the space where Ereb had been emptied itself. Ereb slide from her grasp in a dead faint, his forehead knocking the ground with a muffled splat as his cheek kissed the floor. Oto's mouth twisted a thoughtful pout. She hadn't even finished her courtship demonstration yet, and this was the clothes on version of the lesson. Oto sighed. Twenty though he now may be, the twitching boy on the ground still had a long way to go before becoming a man. She began looking around for Jowan to help her carry Ereb back to his room.


	3. A Recipe for Cake, Part 3

**A Recipe for Cake: Kylla**

Kylla gazed upon her own handiwork and blushed. The frosted tower blossomed rosy red before the oven fire, like a living, pulsing thing that rose upwards from the cream; a beacon in the shadows. The paralysis spell was holding the cake tower erect, and she had planted a bouquet of paper strips which she thought were a nice touch. The white streams burst forth from the tip and gushed down the sides in much the same way as she thought a waterfall might. The smaller cakes representing the island's area lay like two snowballs at the base. All in all, she thought, it was rather fetching

"What do you think, little Ashes?" She asked the fire salamander in the oven. It bobbed its head as if it understood and walked from side to side as if to get a better look. 'Ashes' was not the fire elemental's name, per say, but Kylla wanted to call it something other than, 'hey you,' when she was addressing the creature.

"Brrrrrrup?" it said to her, tilting its head quizzically.

"Do you think Ereb will like it?"

"Brrzpt!"

Kylla grinned. She wiped her hands upon her apron and tried to clean her face as best as she could without a mirror. The fire salamander burbled a bit as as it watched her, chirping now and then as if in conversation before curling up on itself and yawning sleepily.

"Wait, no, no, you can't rest here," Kylla chided the creature mildly. "I need you back inside the summoning circle." She tried to coax the creature from its nest with a cinder log, but it merely wagged its head at her and chuburbled happily.

"Darling, I think Ereb will looooove it," came a voice on the verge of mocking laughter.

"Jowan..." Kylla lifted her hands to her face self-consciously, as if she could somehow cover her own surprise. "You - you startled me."

The tall, dark haired man leaning in the doorway unfolded from the darkness. The shadows clung to him, reluctant to let go. The salamander's red flames cast heavy contrasts on his face, making his eyes seem deeper and blacker even as he drew closer to the light.

"How long have you been standing there?"

"Awhile." Jowan put both hands on the table, one on either side of the cake. "Long enough."

"I made him a cake," she said, unaware that she was looking nervously between the entrance and where he stood. Jowan grinned at her obvious discomfort. "It's for his birthday present."

He looked down at the cake skeptically, more than a little disturbed at what the shape reminded him of. "This?" Jowan made a face. "Let me guess. This the 'Gutten' that Oto won't stop ranting about upstairs?"

"Gutten? Oh, you mean the cake? Yes, it's gluten-free." Kylla smiled proudly, "It's a special recipe."

Jowan did not respond. He looked intently at the cake, his eyes like dark coals smoldering in his head. She had always found the motivations of other people hard to understand, and Jowan even more so. Kylla wondered what he was thinking of.

"Ah, uh, yes. Ah... is there... is there something I can do for you, Jowan?"

Jowan blinked as if awakened from a dream. The sound of his name seemed to summon him back from whatever black thoughts he had lost himself in. He opened his mouth, his lips curling in anticipation of something condescending, but just as Kylla prepared to brace herself for whatever scathing words he had, he looked down again at the cake and silenced himself. There was a heaviness in his eyes and in his shoulders that pulled at Kylla's heart. She moved forward, her hands instinctively reaching out to comfort before she realized that her help would probably be the last thing he wanted.

She couldn't help asking, "What's wrong?"

Jowan looked down upon the little elf as she held her hands towards him. What did Ereb see in this pathetic creature? What did she ever see in him? Their open devotion to each other was nauseatingly clear - except for the two involved. He swatted her away. She pulled her hands back and clutched them to her chest.

"Just a little favor," he said, and gave her a smile with all his teeth, bright and sharp in the firelight. A smile that did not reach his eyes.

Kylla watched Jowan as he walked around the small room, his hands touching and eyes wandering over the pots and pans and ingredients strewn about the lower kitchen. He picked up a spatula and flicked the batter off the surface. Kylla cringed as the batter scattered across the room.

"Why do you do it?" He asked, waving the spatula around. "This."

"I..." Kylla paused. It was not a question anyone had ever asked her. "I guess it is... it is the only way I have of being close to him," she realized, even as she said the words. How else could she ever be near him? Ereb was so much more than she could ever be.

And yet, whenever she did something for him, she imagined herself by his side. The grateful look in his eyes when he received his cleaned handkerchiefs; the irrepressible twitch of his nose when he bowed his head to sniff the freshly darned, lavender-scented socks; the way his smile broke through the somber expression he wore whenever he was thinking, which was almost always. There was an empty, dark space in her heart that she thought only his smile could reach. Thinking of him brightened her day, seeing him gladdened her heart, drove away the empty feelings that overwhelmed her alone at night. She looked forward to her every glimpse of him; felt light in his mere presence; was awed by the brilliance of his mind. He was everything she could ever aspire to be.

"Close? You do his chores to be 'close'?" Now the scorn came, hot and angry, and Jowan's voice seethed with tension. Jowan laughed bitterly. "Why not talking, or writing? But instead," he gestured, "You bake him a cake."

The other apprentice's outburst of anger alarmed Kylla, who visibly took a step back as he spoke. "Ah no, I could never -"

Jowan came and stood very close, one arm against the wall above her head and the other by her cheek, caging her. "What would he do for you, then? What would you have him do in return? What is it that we do? What is it that you women want?"

Kylla could feel the heat of Jowan's body near to hers, his ragged gasps rang in her ears. It took her a moment to realize that she had been holding her breath. A beat passed, and then another, and still he held her there, his body overpowering hers, his gaze piercing and direct. Jowan found himself looking into the girl's wide eyes, and was surprised to find a serenity in their blue depths like an empty sea stretching before him. Here was not the bleakness of despair or the airiness of a vapid mind. Just... nothing. She, in turn, gazed up at him and saw the mix of scorn and hate, and struggling beneath it all... pain. Like a festering wound within his heart.

"Nothing," she said, feeling as if she finally understood. "Nothing. It's not about who loves you, Jowan. We are defined by who we love. What we do, and do for others... that's what counts. That's what matters. She... whoever she is. She should love you for you who are."

The two stood there, in the dimly lit darkness and Kylla listened as gradually Jowan's breath slowed, and his hands dropped to his sides. He looked at her, again, intently as if he had never seen her before. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Jowan spoke again.

"Oto is looking for you," he told her. "Upstairs, in the Apprentice's ward. She said Ereb had something to tell you."

"Ah - I, ah... I need to clean my workspace first. Housekeeper Neria will - "

"I'll do it." Volunteered Jowan, his face once again closed, but calm. "You... you should go bring Ereb his present. I'm sure he'll like it."

Kylla bit her lip, trying not to to be giddy before the older man. She gave Jowan her hurried thanks and picked up her cake plate, her heart beating faster as she approached the stairs. She all but ran to reach the top, slowing only to balance the plate as she moved.

Kylla took a deep breathe, preparing how she would present herself at the apprentice quarters. She turned the corner, and just as quickly, turned back around again.

_Oto... and Ereb? _She stood facing the flight of stairs, breathing heavily. It was the steep steps, she thought, climbing all the way up to the apprentice's quarters from the lower kitchen. It was only a half a flight, but the magical exertions that morning probably took a lot out of her. She felt something wet touch her hand, and was surprised to find that the air in the dusty quarters seemed to be aggravating her sinuses, causing her eyes to water.

"I should. Probably have... a bit of a sit down," she said to no one in particular. "Yes," she agreed, mostly for the sake of having something to talk about with herself. "That would be... nice. A sound idea. A bit of a sit down to clear the... fumes..." she babbled, hoping to distract her beating heart. She sat down.

But the images in her head would not leave her be. She felt the flush of blood heating her cheeks despite the tower's cold stone steps. The vision of thick, braided hair brushing against his face. Bright eyes looking into his own. The bronze skin of Oto's face against Ereb's pale cheek; lips close enough to touch. An intimate moment she had witnessed which she had no business being anywhere near.

Kylla's hands holding the cake trembled slightly, so she placed the plate over her knees, hand on each side. The cold seeping in through her robes was comforting. Numbing. Kylla wondered why that felt so good right now, as her vision of the world blurred behind a screen of inexplicable tears.


	4. A Recipe for Cake, Part 4

**A Recipe for Cake: Oto**

Oto was having a dastardly time finding Jowan.

He wasn't in the apprentice quarters and he was rarely ever at class. She accosted a few of the younger apprentices and demanded if they saw him. But everywhere Oto turned, it was a blank look and a shrug. She was starting to wonder if Jowan had mind-blasted them all, so thoroughly had he disappeared.

A familiar long-haired blond crossed her path as she stormed for the fifth time down the main hall. "Anders!" Oto yelled, and nearly had to freeze herself in order to avoid running into him. The older apprentice turned around, both eyebrows arched. He grinned and raised his arms as Oto came skidding right into his embrace.

"Loooovely to see you too, Oto," Anders grinned. "And what can I do for you, today?"

"No way, not anymore, Anders," said Oto, and made a face as she pulled herself away. "Have you seen Jowan?"

Anders put a hand to his chest in mock tragedy. "Oh, you wound me, dear lady. To you, I gave my heart, my light! And now… this! What is 'this,' anyway? Are you leaving me for Jowan, lovey?"

Oto rolled her eyes. "As if I would ever date that idiot! No, I just… I need his help. Moving… bodies."

"Bodies?" Anders arched his brow again. "This sounds fun."

Oto waved a hand in the air, dismissing the idea. "Naw, it's just Ereb. He fainted in the hallway."

"And you *have* to have Jowan help you move him? Haven't you tried to ask one of the other apprentices?"

Oto blinked, suddenly nonplussed. "I, uh, well… I hadn't thought of that," she finally mumbled.

Anders laughed. "Are you sure it's help you want, or Jowan?"

Oto pursed her lips in annoyance, finally remembering why it was that she and Anders were not an item anymore.

"So how did the escape plan go?" She asked, changing the subject.

Anders suddenly looked sly. "Not too bad, not too bad. I can't talk about anything in detail here, of course." He looked pointedly at the surrounding area. "The walls have _ears_, you know," he whispered loudly.

"Uh-huh." Oto crossed her arms. "Just tell me where Jowan went, Anders. And stop covering for him or I'll freeze your tongue to a lamppost and leave you outside for the crows."

Anders feigned being wounded, placing his hand with great deliberation over his chest. But he didn't appear unduly threatened by Oto's words.

"Le sigh, Oto! You are such a tough audience. Alright, alright. He got into Cullen's lyrium stash and made off with it somewhere. Might have headed down to the lower kitchen." Anders jerked a thumb in the direction of the stairs for emphasis. "Something about spiking the pastry. Just between you and me, though," Anders added, leaning down conspiratorially to speak in Oto's ear, "Cullen's not too happy with him right now. He's been stalking about asking the same thing as you. I'd stay clear out of his way."

"C-Cullen's back?" Murmured Oto, suddenly self conscious about whether her hair looked alright and whether she should have worn her other set of apprentice robes, which fit a little more snugly around her waist, "That was a short trip to Denerim…"

"Hang onto your juggling balls, circus girl. I'm pretty sure he *definitely* didn't come back early *just* to see you." Anders grinned, the expression all but splitting his face.

"Oh, shut it Anders," Oto muttered. "Just... just shut it."

* * *

**A Recipe for Cake: Ereb**

Poke. Poke, poke. **_Poke_**. Ereb felt his face moving back and forth against stone and awoke to the slow realization that something was attempting to drill a hole into the side of his head.

"Hurh, ugh, huh, wha - ?" He managed, although words were hard to form with his face still pressed to the floor.

"Ah said, git!" Grumbled a voice like stone scraping on granite, punctuated by several more pokes to the cheek.

"Aaaagh!" Said Ereb as he scrambled upright. He stared at the demented vision of Senior Enchanter Valentai Wiggum, who was wearing his robe backwards again and whose white hair stood upright as if frozen in place with a spell. The old man raised his gnarled staff to prod Ereb's face again.

"Aaaaaaahhhh - ah! Ah!" said Ereb, cowering before the beginner summoning instructor.

"Yer late!" Snipped the old man, and finished his reprimand with a sound rap to the top of Ereb's head.

"Ow! Sleeping Andraste's divine ineffables, Senior Enchanter!" cried Ereb, covering his head, "I - I - I - uh, I was just on my way!"

"Sleepin' in the hallway 'sright! Were's mah firey beastie, now? Were'sit gorne?"

Ereb stared in utter confusion at the Senior Enchanter, not sure whether this was a continuation of a bad dream or possibly an even worse reality.

"Ah caint start claze withoot 'em!"

Ereb blinked. "Uh, uhm, er... do you mean that the summoning elemental is missing, Senior Enchanter?"

"Gorram, yush! Yer ain't bear listin'!"

Ereb rubbed his hands across his face. A sinking feeling that maybe he shouldn't have gotten out of bed today was settling into his stomach.

"That lil'o gurly girl o' yorn tookit. Shar dinna returnit!"

Between the jabs from the staff a gradual realization was dawning on Ereb. He pushed the end of the staff that Wiggum was still waving away from his head. Politely, he asked, "Senior Enchanter, have you taken your fried frog pills yet today?"

"Runned oot. No mere. Temple-liar my tookus, nope."

As if on cue, the templar Cullen arrived, slightly breathless with a small box in hand. The redheaded warrior seemed even more unkempt than usual. His tunic was wrinkled and untucked, and the stubbly growth of hair on his chin make him look particularly rakish. There were dark circles under his eyes and the hand holding the box shook.

"Senior Enchanter Wiggum?" Cullen asked.

"Whashits to yous?"

"Er... calm down, Senior Enchanter. Commander Greagoir asked me to deliver your pills to you."

"Aboot time!" grumbled the old man, snatching the box Cullen held right out of his hands. He shook the box violently, then put his ear to the case, listening intently. Ereb gave Cullen a cautious glance. Without warning, the old man opened the box with a shriek and devoured the contents, burping happily. The two young men looked at each other and shrugged.

"Senior Enchanter, er," said Ereb, "I would be happy to retrieve the elemental for you, ser. Where, uh, d - did you misplace it?"

"Hey? Oh, the wee beastie? Yes... ah lent it to that wee lil'o elf girl of yourn, Kylie." said the Senior Enchanter, much more articulate now that he had taken his morning dose. Ereb blushed to hear Kylla refer to as 'his.'

"Lessee, I believe she said she had a special bake to cake and wanted 'em for her coven."

"The lower kitchen, ser?"

"Might be, just might be. AND WHAT ARE YER STANDING THAR FOR, SOLDIER?" Shouted Wiggum, the last directed to a slightly stunned Cullen. The young man looked paler than usual and his cheeks were flushed as if with fever. "ARE WE SERVING YA TEA?"

"I have some chamomile tea... " offered Ereb, noticing that the young templar was still out of breath despite standing still. "It's very soothing..."

"It's n - nothing. I shall be about my duties, Senior Enchanter... seeking the apprentice Jowan."

"Jowansie? Jowansie gorn cake covered, too, kitchens, natch!"

"Why would both Jowan and Kylla be in the lower kitchen?" Ereb asked, somewhat uneasily.

"Baking a baby! Stuffin' the oven! Makin' thur secret love batter!" Shouted the Senior Enchanter, cackling with glee as he went back down the hallway. "Fetch me my pretty for me, boy!' He cooed. Ereb looked slightly ill.

"The... kitchen?" Cullen managed, swallowing with difficulty. He reached a shaky arm out towards Ereb and pulled the apprentice with him towards the stair.

"Kylla has a great blend of lavender and ginger and elfroot..." Ereb began, but stopped short as Cullen staggered against him. It took all the strength in Ereb's wiry frame to prop the larger templar upright. "Ser? Ser? Are you alright?"

"Jowan," gritted Cullen, steadying himself against the wall. He took a deep breathe. "I swear on the Maker's breathe that I am going to kill him."

Ereb studied the dilated eyes and placed a hand on Cullen's forehead. The templar's face looked feverish but his skin was cool and clammy. "Lyrium withdrawl," Ereb realized, and Cullen nodded.

"He should have been born a rat on the streets," scowled Cullen, "Got into my room and took my supply while I was in Denerim."

"Sh - sh - shouldn't we report him?" Ereb asked, and Cullen gave him a look.

"Oh, yeah," Ereb said, realizing how it would look for a templar to report that to the Knight Commander. Ereb frowned, feeling sympathy for a fellow victim of Jowan's often vicious pranks.

"Are you coming?" Cullen asked as he began groping his way down the stairs. His condition appeared to be deteriorating.

"C - Cullen," Ereb said, after a moment of hesitation. "Wait."

The templar paused and leaned heavily against the wall, a questioning look on his face. Ereb held out both hands and placed them on either side of the man's temples and whispered a few words for a rejuvenation spell. Blue energy flowed from his outstretched hands and outlined the templar's body; for a moment the other man was suffused with light. In a moment the light was gone, vanished as if it had never been. But now Cullen breathed easier, and the flush was gone from his cheeks.

"My thanks," said the templar, clapping a hand on Ereb's shoulder in appreciation. Ereb winced instinctively.

"Let's go find out what your girl and that rogue apprentice are up to, then?"

"She's... she's not my girl, " Ereb muttered, but he was blushing despite his objections. Cullen grinned. "But I - I guess I'm headed there anyway," Ereb finished awkwardly, and followed Cullen down the steps.


	5. A Recipe for Cake, Part 5

**A Recipe for Cake: Jowan**

Jowan snickered to himself as he imagined the templar named Cullen stalking the Circle Tower in search of him. The fool would be fighting a beastly case of lyrium shakes by now, and Jowan could only imagine the expression. Given the templar's fairly junior standing within the order, Jowan doubted he would be facing the more lethal withdrawal symptoms. But still, the thought of him shuddering on the floor was enough to bring a wide smile to Jowan's day.

He casually flipped through the cabinetry in the kitchen to take stock of what was available. Now that the knife-eared wench was out of his way, he had free rein, and where there was Jowan, there was always some kind of mischief to be conceived. Their short conversation had been more unnerving than he was willing to admit, but she was gone, and he could put those blue, penetrating eyes out of his mind. What would she really know about Lily, anyway? Or love? Everyone in the tower had been watching those... those _two_ dance around each other for years. What was so difficult? All they needed was to get into bed and get on with their lives.

The dry goods pantry was surprisingly paltry for a kitchen that supplied the foodstuffs for an entire fortress island with no arable land and a lot of hungry young mouths. How often did they get resupply shipments? Jowan gnawed on the thought as he rummaged through bundles of roots and dried mushrooms. He picked up a bundle and examined it. What on earth did they use these for? He snorted. Perhaps there would be something better in the cellar.

Everyone wanted something. It was a lesson Jowan had learned early on in life. People took, and you had to take back. Generosity was an illusion for fools; in the end, they'd find some way to take from you anyway. The chantry girl probably just wanted him to bring her potions. Something. Whatever. Out of his mind.

All such thoughts were indeed driven out of Jowan's mind a moment later when he threw open the double wide doors to the Circle Tower's infamous cellar, which was, in fact, something of a misnomer. In actuality it was a very large storage closet on the ground floor magically enchanted to preserve objects at a stable temperature. A device installed decades ago by a very forward thinking and enterprising First Enchanter who had a vision of starting a new trend for such devices across the breadth of Ferelden, thereby enabling the year-round storage of fresh local and imported fruits to be used in the production of mixed fruit torts, which were the then-First Enchanter's personal weakness. Unfortunately, the cost of producing and deploying such large, ungainly devices ultimately proved unfeasible for the mages, and the First Enchanter eventually left his long years of office leaving behind nothing of even his name: only the legacy of his preservation unit. And there, laid out before Jowan like a glorious army of white capped and golden custard soldiers, was a table covered in pies as long as a man and twice as wide. Banana cream. Custard. Lemon meringue. Maker, there was even triple chocolate cream with bits of coco bits on top.

There could be only one thing to do with a storage hoard of pies and a stash of convenient lyrium bottles. The plan was simplicity itself. Spike the pies, serve them upstairs, and watch the magical freak storm blow out before you could even call afternoon tea. Lyrium had the effect of boosting a mages' magical abilities, and an unexpected dose, in the form of a post-luncheon treat, would be just the thing to ignite a magical ruckus across the dorms. It would be his most ambitious prank yet. The Maker must had smiled on Jowan when he sent that templar to Denerim on an emergency errand for the Senior Enchanter's pills.

Jowan's hand trembled only just slightly as he gazed at the scene of what was destined to become his legacy. Slowly, he uncorked the first lyrium bottle and was just about to pour when a shaky voice interrupted him from behind:

"S - s- stop whatever y - you're doing, you v -v - v - vile piemaker!"

Jowan turned around. Standing in the doorway was the gangly form of his chief rival, Ereb Amell, a stuttering nuisance and fellow apprentice at the tower. Much more disconcerting was the tall, muscular templar who stood next to him; who did not seem in the least bit ill from lyrium withdrawl.

"Piemaker?" Jowan raised an eyebrow at Ereb, who had both hands clapped to his cheeks as if he, too, could not believe what he had just said. "That the best you can do?"

Cullen pushed the younger man aside, taking control of the situation. "My vials. Back. Now, apprentice," he growled.

Jowan shrugged, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're holding it in your hand!"

Jowan raised his hand still holding a large bundle of the dried roots. "This? Oh, no good ser knight. That's just a bundle of faggots, you see." He grinned cheekily.

Cullen closed the distance between them in three steps, his arm grabbing Jowan's other hand and slamming it onto the table. A few pies were shaken loose from their formation fell with a sad splat. The blue vial of lyrium clinked to the floor.

"THAT hand," said Cullen in a low, dark voice. Jowan's grin only grew wider, despite the pain tearing up his arm.

He wasted no more time bantering words with the templar. Jowan's knee was aimed straight for the templar's groin even as he swung a tin full of pie at the templar's face. Cullen dodged, his hand still on Jowan's arm, and pulled the apprentice mage forward and off balance, slamming Jowan's body down against the table and twisting his arm behind his back. Pies scattered everywhere.

"You forget that we train for this," Cullen snarled, pinning the mage to the table with his greater weight.

"So do we," muttered Jowan, and finished with the incantation for the disorientation spell he had been holding. He felt the pressure lessen as the templar's arm went slack. Jowan turned, gathering two more pie tins as he did so, and tried to hit Cullen in the face with both.

Cullen backed away, the sudden weakness in his knees causing him to stumble. His retreat avoided the majority of the creamy fallout, though the flying custard still landed all across the front of his tunic. Unbalanced, he careened into the side of a makeshift brick oven and his weight forced the sides to buckle, listing dangerously. Cullen shook his head and tried to focus on the other man, but Jowan's shape weaved in and out of his vision.

Jowan grabbed a sack of flour from the ground and heaved, the bag colliding with a satisfying smack on the templar's chin. Both Cullen and the makeshift oven tumbled. The larger man flailed, his hand catching on a corner of the burlap sack, and the sound of tearing rent the air as clouds of flour billowed upwards. Jowan laughed and immediately regretted it as he started choking on the flour that poured down his throat. Cullen lunged blindly towards the sound and grinned as he felt his fist connect with Jowan's jaw.

Jowan crashed into the pie table and grabbed at the closest thing to hand: another pie. He picked up what might have been a lemon meringue and upended it in the direction he thought Cullen was in. Cream flew through the flour clouds and the tin grazed Cullen's forehead as he staggered towards Jowan. Cullen's hands clenched around dusty robes and he pulled, but the fabric gave way in his hand. Cullen cursed as he tossed Jowan's useless robe away and groped for the direction the apprentice mage had fled in.

Jowan, meanwhile, was busy tearing through the remaining flour burlap sacks with a dull knife. The more flour he could put into the air, the better his chances of escaping unnoticed. He tossed handfuls of flour upwards, chanting what he knew of a storm spell as he did so. The effect was far less spectacular than the full blizzards that senior mages could summon, but the draft gradually built momentum as it caught up more and more of the dust and blossomed into a cloud covering the room.

Outside, the mad, white clouds spilled from the room out into the hall where Ereb was still standing in the doorway. He could hear the sounds of Cullen and Jowan struggling, but the two figures were lost to him in the flurry of flour.

"I daresay, are you alright in there?" Ereb asked anxiously, not sure what else to do. "Should I fetch someone?"

Cullen growled and ignored the voice outside. Instead, he closed his eyes and concentrated on identifying the direction of Jowan's chanting. The cream and custard from the pies was sliding in clammy streaks down his body. He fumbled and felt his way along the wall slowly, testing each step with his foot before moving forward.

"Ouch!" Shouted Jowan as Cullen's boots kicked him in the ribs, and clapped his hand to his mouth as he realized that he had given himself away. Cullen's arm was around his throat in an instant, dragging him up. "You p-pompous prick," Jowan coughed, straining to pull the stronger man's arm off his neck.

"Cretin," Cullen returned, cuffing Jowan on the head. He tried to drag the apprentice bodily towards the exit, but stopped when he felt the cold prickling of metal aimed at his abdomen.

"Give me your tunic," Jowan said, and pressed his blade towards Cullen. It wasn't very sharp and would hardly do any damage, but he was counting on the clouds of dust to conceal the weapon's inefficiency from the templar. For a moment he was afraid the templar would refuse. But then, slowly, the man removed his arm and Jowan heard the rustling sound of the tunic being removed. Idiots. They're always so honest, thought Jowan.

Jowan did not hesitate. He lobbed one last pie as Cullen pulled the shirt over his over eyes, and followed through with a firm push which sent the templar toppling.

"See ya, pond sucker!" Snarked Jowan as he bounded out into the hallway and nearly crashed into the little elf girl and her overly erect cake. "Get a room already!" He grimaced, and shoved her indiscriminately in Ereb's general direction.

Jowan ran up the stairs two steps at a time, bits of flour and custard and cream shedding behind him. He nearly ran into Oto, too, coming down the stairs and only narrowly missed her by stopping himself against a wall.

"Oto!"

"Jowan!"

"Oto!" Jowan yelled again, then looked behind him and thought quickly. He grabbed his friend by the waist and twirled her about to face the steps behind him. "Wait here, I have a surprise for you!"

"Whaaa?" said Oto, a little confused by the amount of batter and chocolate pudding covering Jowan's half naked body. But she didn't have time for more than half a word before Jowan's fleeing back disappeared up the stairs.

"Watch out!" Shouted Cullen, who came bounding up the steps a moment later. Too late for Oto to move out of the way. The two collided in a squishy mess of cream and custard, his lips pressing into hers as their faces met with a surprise.

"Oh..." whispered Oto, clinging tightly to the cream covered Cullen. She gave his cheek an experimental lick. Cullen's face flushed red as beetroot and he stumbled backwards, nearly falling. Oto's weight threatened to tilt them back down the stairs and he had no choice but to throw his arms around her waist and press his body against hers to balance them both. A rich, whipped dairy-covered kiss was his reward, and he found himself the very stunned recipient of a warm and urgent tongue trying to worm its way down his throat.

Cullen pried his face away from Oto's, his skin flushed and fevered from the ardent contact. Oto grabbed at the side of his belt as he tried to pull away, threatening to pull it off entirely.

"He's getting away!" yelled Cullen, as he tried to crawl up the stairs after Jowan.

"You're telling me!" shouted Oto as she tightened her grip and used her free hand to wrap around the templar's bare waist.

"What are you doing?" said Cullen as her hands crawled along his abdomen.

"Enjoying the moment," grinned Oto, and launched herself at her victim with a debilitating kiss. To his great credit, Cullen whimpered only slightly as she came.

* * *

**A Recipe for Cake: Kylla**

She should have suspected something when Jowan volunteered to clean the kitchens, but her mind was elsewhere at the time. She could have suspected something when she came back, feet dragging even after some time spent pondering life and her role within the tower on the Tower's second balcony floor; but again, her heart was elsewhere at the time.

There was much about Oto to be envied, thought Kylla as she carried her cake back downstairs, resolving to store it in the cellar until further use could be made of it. Her passion was frequently infectious, and her devil-may-care attitude was often a source of comfort and inspiration to the fellow apprentices. Oto had a good heart, too, even if she didn't always follow rules. And there was nothing wrong with Ereb loving an older woman. It was only natural to be drawn towards Oto's vivaciousness and lust for life. Her laughter drew crowds and her personality was such that even the most miserly sometimes felt generous in her ebullient presence.

And yet… and yet. Kylla felt terror clutch her heart as if she was on the verge of something. As if a gaping chasm yawned before her and she would tumble into the emptiness and plummet forever in inky darkness.

She shuddered slightly at the thought and pushed it away. There would be plenty of time for nightmares later, in the night, when everyone else had gone to bed. For now, she focused on finding a reason to be happy for Ereb and his birthday celebration.

So fixed was she on this thought that she nearly didn't see Ereb himself standing there as she stepped down from the last step and paused in shock to see the wide, billowing clouds of dust pouring from the kitchen.

"Blessings of the Maker," Kylla murmured, and at that moment, Jowan came tearing out of the room, shirtless and covered in cream and bits of pie crust, his hair and eyes wild while his face was contorted in an ugly grin.

"Get a room!" Shouted Jowan, and pushed Kylla, cake and all, straight towards Ereb. The collision catapulted the cake point-first towards Ereb's face, and Kylla stared in dismay as the product of her hours of work crumbled at the impact.

"Oh," she said, biting her lip. "Oh, Ereb! Oh… Please don't marry Oto!" She blurted, and then covered her mouth, embarrassed by the sudden outburst.

Ereb sputtered, bits of spongy cake and cream flying from his mouth. "M-m-marry me?" He squealed, and then covered his mouth with both hands in the same manner.

At that moment, Cullen appeared, his red hair covered in cream and his naked torso covered in custard, flying out of the room and up the stairs.

"Uhm," said Ereb, and looked sheepishly at Kylla.

"Ah," said Kylla, and clung to her blue cake platter as if it were a shield.

Simultaneously, both asked: "Wh – what was that about marrying – ? Oh, I'm sorry, please, you firs – I mean, I – "

At the same time, both fell silent and shuffled their feet awkwardly.

Kylla broke the tension first by laughing, clear and sweet, and an image of silver water came to Ereb's mind. In that moment, standing there with cake all over his robes and face, staring into her smiling eyes, the events of the rest of the day seemed distant and far away. Ereb allowed himself to grin, which became a smile, which grew to laughter as he sat beside her.

Unselfconsciously, he reached out with a finger out to wipe a dollop of cream from her nose. As his finger crossed her cheek, Kylla blushed, the color spreading like a pastel dawn across white clouds, and without warning, Ereb's breath caught in his throat. In his imagination his fingers continued, tracing the delicate line of her jaw until he reached her chin, his finger slowly parting pink lips until she smiled, took his hand into her own, and invited his finger into her mouth with slow, deliberate licks. Ereb gulped, and nearly swallowed his tongue.

"E-Ereb?" asked Kylla in concern as her best friend began choking suddenly. He had gone from looking thoughtful to gasping for breath in mere seconds. "Ereb!" She said again and moved towards him, frantically alternating between rubbing down the front of his chest and patting his back, which only seemed to make the coughing fit worse.

"Brrzzpt?" Came an irritated response, and both Ereb and Kylla paused just long enough to see Ashes the fire salamander, tired of the noise and ruckus and the ruined remains of his den, appear in the doorway.

Ashes swung his head about, nostril flaring, and sneezed.

Afterwards, many in the Tower speculated that the explosion may have had magical origins in the old, neglected cellars, which in bygone times were used for storage of arcane artifacts and items of dangerous potential. Still others claimed it was Andraste's will, and that Armageddon would soon come upon the mages and a blight upon the earth. Only a few shook their heads sagely and commented on the large surface area of many tiny particles and the potential for creating an explosive suspension environment when you take into consideration the low oxidization threshold. All agreed that it truly was a very impressive blast, and the Circle of Magi spent a full eight months putting the gaping wound in their tower back together.

* * *

**A Recipe for Cake: Anders**

The giant breach in the wall beckoned, twinkling with the light of freedom. Anders, with his pack slung over his shoulder and a jaunty tune in his mouth, paused for a moment at the opening and took a quick look back. Panicked apprentices were screaming through the tower's hallways, followed by harried enchanters trying to get their classes back in order. The explosion shook the entire island that Kinloch Hold stood upon, and the smoke still floated like sheets of black silk into the sky. It was a glorious setting for a daring escape.

"Is - is it safe, yet?" Mumbled a voice from somewhere by his waist. Anders raised his eyebrows, unaware that anyone else had dared to approach the site so soon.

"Godwin?" He asked, a bit taken aback as he realized the voice came from a remarkably intact barrel sitting precariously at the base of the hole. Two slits for eyes peered at him from the darkness. "Is that a salt barrel?"

"I was hiding from the Chanters in the kit - kitchen," Godwin mumbled, his voice echoing slightly as it rolled around inside the barrel. "I took an awful bump."

"I'll say. Were you there for the explosion, then?"

"Is that what it was? I was having a lovely nap before that all happened."

Anders looked up again as a small bundle of burning pages caught his eye, the sheets apparently caught in a downward draft that brought them blossoming downwards in a slow, circular arc. He reached out and carefully plucked a page as it drifted by.

"What is it?" Godwin asked.

"It's... it says it's a recipe for cake."

"Oh."

Anders stared at the illustration for a bit, which seemed to have little to do with baking and a lot to do with the art of lacing corsets.

"Maybe we should leave it alone," said Godwin. "We don't know where it's been."

"I think... that would be wise," agreed Anders, though he was not quite certain why. He thought for a moment, fingering the sooty surface of the paper, then folded it into a little boat and placed it in the water. With a gentle nudge from his boot, he sent it on its way. Silently, the two watched the small craft sail into the murky distance of Lake Calenhead.

**End.**


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